We Were Meant for More
by pickleshibby
Summary: Just something I came up with to break up the strain of "Scorn and Neglect" on my brain. This was written as a "fill-in" for the episode from season 1 "The Consummation" after "the look." You ALL know the one I'm talking about! Mary walks down the aisle on her wedding day and passes Henry and he steals a glance at Catherine. The look she gives him back...DEAD! I HAD to play 3


"We Were Meant for More" Chapter 1

Summary: The musings of a King on his son's wedding day.

Rating: K

Disclaimer: I own nothing about "Reign."

Story: One-shot...ya'll let me know though!

 **AN: a little diddy I dreamed up (in between my very intense "Scorn and Neglect" story) to bring back some Cathry feels. Following "the look" from "The Consummation." You all know the one I'm talking about. Mary walks past King Henry down the aisle, and he gives Catherine a look and she gives the MOST seductive grin back to him. I HAD to do something with this BEAUTIFUL moment!**

 **For all my Cathry fans who are still alive and well! I SALUTE YOU!**

The truth was he didn't find any joy in the occasion of the marriage of his son to Mary Stewart. This may or may not be because he had forced this union. What he would tell no one, while he stood watching a vision in white practically float towards her future husband, is that his deepest fear was bubbling like a cauldron just beneath his anxious expression. Are they too young?

Stealing a short glance at Catherine, who was for the moment smiling in quite the motherly fashion at Mary, he couldn't help but wonder if that was why they fell apart. Beyond France, and Scotland, and even England, Henry was shocked to find his "fatherly" side emerging at the most random of times. He found, suddenly, that he wanted them to be happy; His son and Mary. However, he knew all-too-well, that happiness came with a harsh price.

As Mary passed him, he tried to focus on the logic of it all, when something attacked his senses in the deepest and most intimate of ways. A smell. It passed, it time, with Mary. He was thrown back, oh so briefly, to a time when _he_ was standing where Francis was, watching the most beautiful creature in the world walking towards him with that same look. When she'd arrived at his side, a scent followed on the faint breeze she'd created as she'd walked. Roses. Pure and clean; it was the most intoxicating scent he'd ever experienced. Only _his_ bride lacked raven locks. Instead, a halo of copper and gold spun curls held her crown firmly in place. He'd always thought Catherine's hair would have made Aphrodite herself jealous if he were real.

Henry felt himself falter unable to help that his eyes went straight to his wife's across from him. He'd expected indifference. Hell, he'd expected sheer hatred and loathing after he'd had her locked In a damned tower and almost had her beheaded. However, what he didn't expect was the most seductive of looks meant for him with piercing, green, eyes. The look of a temptress. It was a look he'd seen many times, a look that told him that she wanted him and only him. When his Catherine wanted him, no one else could compare to the impact it had on him. Even Kenna.

As luck would have it, his petulant mistress walked past in time with his thoughts about his wife. What was it about serendipitous moments such as that? Perhaps fate had a sense of humor after all.

Seeing his desperately torn glance towards Kenna, Catherine adjusted her eyes indifferently back towards the sight of Mary and her son becoming husband and wife. Henry mentally kicked himself, but could detect the slight remains of that same smirk still on his wife's features. Something about this whole debacle brought back emotions that he didn't quite recognize. It made him want her again. Could a simple forced wedding do that?! Henry had imagined that Catherine gave Mary her "something borrowed" with the same Rose-scented whatever-that-was potion that she had worn on her own wedding day. Actually, she wore it quite often when they were younger. After he'd turned to Diane, she'd stopped. Or did he stop noticing? Did Diane's overpowering nature simply kill the delicate rose-scent of his wife? Did he allow it to happen?

In any case, they had a whole night to endure. Henry straightened his spine, pushed his emotions deep inside of himself, and moved his gaze back towards his son. He silently prayed that Francis would be a better husband than he was. Not a better King or Conqueror, but a better husband. He suddenly found himself wishing that he had been just that.

 **AN: That's a wrap...unless you guys want more. You tell me...STOP or MORE!? Hee hee! The reason I ask, is that I don't really have a plot with this story. Was just writing for fun here and it sort of "flowed" freely. If you want more...i'll need ideas. Will probably remain a short and sweet story but I may be able to squeeze one or two more out of the old brain!**


End file.
